Michael removed the last screw holding a drain cover on and smiled as he kicked it through. One less boundary between him and his brother's freedom. He sat back down taking a breather, his skin glistened with sweat. He'd been in that hot, dark pipe for at least an hour and knew it was time to get back, the guards would be checking the cells soon. He slid the tools he was using into holes he'd cut in the soles of his shoes then started quickly down the tunnel. There was always urgency to what he did and he knew his cell mate would be stressing. As the opening leading back into his cell came into view he heard Sucre's nervous whispering.

"Fish, if you can hear me, hurry up man! The guard is coming! HURRY UP!" Michael broke into a pelt putting on his shirt to cover his sweat drenched singlet. He climbed hastily into their cell and shoved the stainless steal sink back into place. Sucre started pulling down the sheet just as the guard came around.

"Hey boss" Sucre greeted the man in the blue uniform that began to leer around their cell. His eyes came to rest on something. Sucre turned to see what he was looking at; Michael stood hunching over the sink stifling his quickened breathing from his hasty trek back. From where he stood, Sucre could see the sweat on his face. The guard couldn't possibly miss this abnormality if Michael turned.

"Hey! Scofield!" The guard called.

"Yeah" he answered.

"You'd better look at me when I'm talking to you, now get over here! Bellick told me to pay special attention to you" He sneered but Michael stayed "What's so interestin' about that sink?"

"Uh, he's not feeling well…was up all night with stomach cramps, aint that right Fish?" Sucre explained quickly.

"Turn around! This is the last time I'm asking" The guard repeated. Michael turned on the water splashing his face then slowly made his way over to the bars.

"Sorry, Boss, wasn't feeling right but I feel fine now" he said smoothly and calmly. The guard glared at him briefly then continued on. Michael turned his gaze to Sucre with a tell tale smirk.

"I did it" he commented sitting down on his bunk, whipping the water from his face with his sleeve.

"Great! So what are we doing next?" Sucre asked excitably leaping onto the top bunk.

"We just have to keep working on the tunnel in P.I. Few more days…a week at most and we'll be ready, there's still a lot of work to be done though." Michael answered reclining a little before noticing a bottle being held out from the cell next to them. Michael walked over reaching out and taking it.

"It's from T-bag, across the way" A deep voice said with an underlying tone of interest and curiosity "He told me to give you this after the guards second round cause you'd be thirsty and something about the group being in top condition. Got any idea what he's going on bout' Scofield?"

"No idea, Thanks" He lied with ease returning to his bunk. He frowned at its weight. He'd asked T-Bag to get this for another one of his plans but he hadn't mentioned anything about filling it. He pulled off the cap and smelt it. It smelled like oranges. He pondered over whether to drink it. Usually he would simply discard its contents purely out of mistrust; however he was very thirsty, hadn't had orange juice for a few months and could not see any reason why T-Bag would risk the entire escape plan in an attempt to hurt him. He took a sip, the cool refreshing liquid running down his throat, and then he waited. When nothing happened he gulped the rest down greatfully.

Sucre was slowly woken from his siesta by the sound of singing. He listened to the melodious tones playfully lifting and falling for a few minutes before he recognized the voice. Fighting the urge to laugh he rolled over and grinned down at Michael. He was reclining contently on his bunk, arms folded behind his head.

"I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words" He sung, remarkably well.

"Since when do you sing, Fish?" Sucre sniggered questioningly. Michael returned his snigger with a rare laugh as he got wobbily to his feet.

"Sucre, Sucre, Sucre. I've always been able to sing! But like I'm gonna strike up a tune round here, I mean I'm likely to be killed, sides' it's embarrassing" he talkatively answered as his cellmates eyes widened. Sucre had just noticed Michael's unusually wide smile, sluggish movements and previously nonexistent personality quirks.

"Yo, Michael…are you drunk?" he asked a warning light flashing in his mind.

"Maybe" he sighed smiling leaning on the wall behind him "Ok, yes"

"No! How? No, no, no!" Sucre whispered worriedly jumping down from his bunk and shaking Michael by the shoulders "Listen, just lie down and sleep it off! You can't be drunk here!"

"I don't want to" Michael replied easily humming a bar of 'Your song' as he looked away "How wonderful life is…now you're in the world"

"Fish, snap out of it!" Sucre exclaimed then Michael whispered something curious.

"I like her. I really like her" Sucre frowned.

"Who?"

"Sara, Dr. Tancredi. The more I see her, the more I want to be with her." for a moment he seemed sober, his gaze not focused on the floor but roaming a memory of the redhead that he so longed for "Maybe…She'd like my singing!" He exclaimed cheerily pushing past Sucre to the sink.

"No!" Sucre grabbed the back of Michael's shirt "Look, papi, she's great but you can't just turn up in the medical wing! If you have to go just wait till your insulin shot!" Michael looked over his shoulder.

"I don't want to wait!" he beamed pushing Sucre boisterously off, pulling the sink away and slipping through the hole. Sucre dove for the opening, but as he looked through it he saw Michael flying down the dimly lit corridor. It was too late.

"Michael, it's the middle of the day!" Sucre hissed but he was gone "MICHAEL!"